Last December
I was about to leave for work, realised that I couldn't face the fucking place (even more than usual), so closed the door, went back to bed, and pulled the covers over my head for the rest of the day.

I made it in the next day, and no-one mentioned my absence, because no-one had noticed it - not even my legion of Jjobsworth managers. That's how meaningless my job is - it makes no difference if I do it or not. Still, strike next Thursday, which should be a hoot.
(Fri 29th Apr 2005, 18:27, More)

Cinematic
My granddad gets blackjacked by Frankie Howerd in "The Great St Trinians' Train Robbery".
He's the morris dancer whose clothes Frankie steals to effect a getaway - needless to say, Frankie then has to lead the other morris dancers in a performance. With hilarious consequences!

Back when I was a student (as all good vom-tales begin)
A friend in my halls-of-residence gave his stomach a good spring clearout one Friday night, at the bottom of the stairwell connecting two housing-blocks. The next morning, two hundred people got up, and headed for the stairs to go about their day.

A fifth fundamental physical force can now join Gravity, EM, and the brothers Nuclear - it's name is Simon's Ripe Gutsauce. It pushed back all who faced it with such power as to make diamagnetism insanely jealous, and the Cornish tides stand and salute.

The - "smell" is too small a word - remained until the unfortunate cleaners destroyed it with what I assume was a controlled detonation and some form of magick.

After the weekend.

The Bank Holiday weekend.

Three days of... that, staking out the stairwell as its own, occasionally sliding under doorways. The poor fuckers in that building must have felt like Egyptians at the first Passover.
(Mon 23rd Aug 2004, 22:57, More)